Lost Talents
by Freya-Rhianna
Summary: Iain Dimmock once dreamt he'd be living a life worlds apart from the dreary offices and tiring work of a DI.


**Part of a 'Character study' type thing, whereby I'm exploring the dangerously under-developed (but none the less loveable) character of Dan Dimmock.**

**So bassically I am adding to my head cannon (:**

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><p>Becoming a DI was not how DanDimmock had planned on spending his life.<p>

Had you asked his 14 year old self, he would have gone on and on about how he was going to be an author; because that's where his true interest lay.

Even now, when the tiring police work had all but crushed any artistic urges he had once had, he found himself starring wistfully at a blank piece of paper that (regardless of how much he wished it to be) would remain frustratingly blank until Danopted to use it to mop up any coffee spillages that would have inevitably occurred by this point in the night.

Now, the only words that Dancould entertain himself with were those that accompanied police reports, and none of those words were particularly enlightening or entertaining.

Iain's previous career choice wasn't something that he brought up often in conversation; partly because he feared any ridicule that would be sparked from such a statement, but mostly because it wasn't something Danever felt worth mentioning.

It was just yet another reminder of the life he was now living as opposed to the life he had always thought he would be living.

Dandid remember bringing it up in passing once however, but even in his inhibited state he had found that the words didn't flow quite as easily as they once had, and he was left clutching onto words (that's meanings escaped him) without the faintest idea of how to convey his opinions to the officer who was unfortunate enough to be sat across from him (who had become slightly teary eyes after his fifth round had come and gone,).

He still held onto the hope that his muse would return someday however; a few carefully jotted down plot lines that where left piling up in his bedside draw, forgotten about and (Dansuspected) complete shit.

Still, he couldn't quite bring himself to throw any of it anyway, and so his apartment had become a sad reminder of the talent that he was losing touch of; each surface littered with scraps of paper covered with inked scratching's that were mostly illegible.

Occasionally, when he found himself with an hour or two to kill, Danwould scan back over something he had written the previous night; only for the paper to be thrown back onto the ground with disdain at the utter lack of quality the paper possessed.

Over the years Danhad tried his hand in a variety of different creative outlets; most ending in complete disaster (a certain clarinet and squirrel incident is brought to mind, but that's probably too traumatic to go into), occasionally however Dimmock would stumble upon something that kept his mind engaged for a month or so.

For a while Danhad become intrigued with the prospect of art and drawing and, at the time, Danhad thought that he had some sort of talent in the area. He'd look back over a recently completed drawing with pride and it brought a slight grin to his face every time.

Now however, his time weary eyes scanned back over the pencil scratching's and could do nothing but judge it critically and cast each and every piece into the same lot as his six-year-old self's paintings that his mother had once held in such high regard.

Once again however, Dancouldn't bring himself to throw any of the pieces away; every time his mind cast over the possibility, he'd shake it off in favour of another task.

The result of this was far more negative than merely clutching onto treasures of the past; his apartment looked like a bomb had exploded, (which effectively warded off any potential suitors) and even he struggled to look passed the mountains of papers, (the urge to clean up was overwhelming, but still he found the idea inexplicably hard to comprehend.)

"Pathetic." He had murmured to himself as he swept a row of drawings onto the floor beside his sofa.

His eyes fell upon a drawing he had rediscovered the previous night, and the sight of its dodgy shading and god-awful attempt at recreating a face brought a light smile to his face.


End file.
